I call bullshit

OK, I call serious bullshit. Whoever said pregnancy was bliss was lying through their teeth. Why? I don't know. Maybe they felt the need to encourage procreation so the world doesn't end up like that film, "Children of Men". Or maybe because the joy of childbirth was so overwhelming, they completely forgot about the previous 9 months. I don't know why, alright? But I'm here to set the record straight.

At every minute of the day, I am either gassy, bloated, nauseous, tired, cranky, weepy, or hungry. Right now, I am all of the above. While I sit here at my desk, I can't decide if I should bed down underneath it with an alarm clock (ala George Costanza) or haul ass to the nearest Chili's for a double order of baby back ribs. And last night, I failed to fight back the tears after watching a U.S. Senate campaign ad. A. Campaign. Ad. For some reason, it just tugged at the heart strings... I'm getting emotional just rehashing the memory (excuse me for a moment).

Ladies, do yourself a favor and become a lesbian. Save yourself!!

Shakin' it up!

Now that my mother has returned from snow-birding, she has begun rigorously preparing my nutrition and health regimen (aka: stuffing horse-pill sized vitamins down my gullet and banishing my recent fast food tendencies). Good bye, Five Guys Burgers and Fries. Hasta luego big macs and quarter-pounders. Au revoir Friendly's double-thick chocolate milkshake. My efforts to squeeze you in throughout the day as much as possible have been thwarted. There is a new milkshake in town. And there's only room for one of us (said with the voice of Wyatt Erp).

Thanks to my mother, my NEW milkshake is no longer a rich, creamy, chocolately-delicious piece of heaven. It now contains equal parts dry, crusted scoops of whey protein, Metamucil, and wheat grass. It is blended with fortified non-fat powdered milk and topped with a raw egg. A. Raw. Egg. It's time to plug my nose and toss 'er down the hatch. This baby better freaking love me.

Notorius P.I.G.

I love it when they call me big mama...wait - no, I don't. But am going to start resembling Biggie Smalls, if I don't keep my cravings under control.

I start out OK. Actually, I start out great! Like a seasoned Olympic gold-medalist, I prepare myself cereal, grapefruit, yogurt, trail mix, and dried fruit, all in 2 hr increments to keep my blood sugar in line and the nausea to a minimum. Later, I'm out making a routine bank deposit and then - BAM - the next thing you know I've devoured a big mac and a milkshake before I even make it out of the drive-thru parking lot. It's shameful. And something tells me if I keep it up, my baby's going to pop out looking like Baby Sinclair ("I'm the baby, gotta love me").

Hopefully, this crappy fast food won't appeal to me during my two remaining trimesters. In the meantime, I'm going to have to buy a maternity band so I can unbutton that top button and still remain inconspicuous.